Rochester, 1933
by alphabetty
Summary: When Carlisle Cullen changes the beautiful, but gravely injured Rosalie Hale he knows his next action will affect not only her future, but that of his small coven as well. Could she be the answer to his problems or will she be just the beginning of a whole new set of issues facing the fragile Cullen family? **Edward and Rosalie will not end up together, but why will be a surprise**
1. Chapter 1

**Here it begins. It's a crisp Rochester, New York evening in 1933, and by the time you finish reading the beautiful and betrothed Rosalie Hale will be dead. But that's just the beginning.**

**Though this is a pre-Bella and Emmett story I can assure you Rosalie and Edward won't end up together, but ****_how _****they don't end up together might surpise you...**

**Thank you ever so much for reading.**

**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer and I am borrowing her play dough. No copyright infringement is intended.****

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**Chapter 1: Through her eyes**

I felt more relaxed than I had in months, pavement crunching under my feet and leaves dancing down the sidewalk. I'd volunteered to walk Esme home from her poetry class this evening, and strolling the university grounds reminded me how peaceful life can be. The air was tinged with the last hearth fires of the year as winter succumbed to spring and every person I passed glowed with the knowledge that another long winter was coming to a close. A winter within me was also coming to a close.

Two years ago today, I reunited with Carlisle and Esme after nearly four years on my own. Fed up with Carlisle's excuses that by not drinking blood we were more than the sum of our fates, I left him to experience my true nature. I drank from those who I felt deserved death, transforming myself into a red-eyed harbinger; judge, jury and executioner in one. And yet as the years passed, I came to see that no man is simply black and white. The rapist had an invalid father with no one else to care for him. The arsonist who destroyed homes as well as ending lives had a daughter who knew nothing of his crimes and loved him dearly. I left that world to return home without knowing if Carlisle and Esme would accept my red eyes or shun me. Not only did they welcome me back with open arms, but neither ever asked about my crimes. The lives I had taken were literally visible in my eyes, but neither even needed to mentally stifle the urge to ask me how many or why.

Esme sensed my newfound peace and slipped her arm through mine. We'd been living in Rochester for a few months and so far the adjustment period was going well. It wasn't generally a dangerous town, as large cities go, but both Carlisle and I felt it wise to ensure one of us met Esme for the walk home. While there was no doubt she wasn't the tiny, fragile woman she appeared to be and even less doubt she'd have any trouble protecting herself if the wrong man crossed her path, we were happy here and none of us wanted to risk leaving because a thug decided to steal the wrong woman's bag.

Carlisle was swiftly moving through the ranks of the hospital, despite his credentials that marked him as a newly minted doctor. His supervisors constantly praised him on his ability to think on his feet and find a diagnosis that doctors with 10 years his experience would often miss. Little did they know he'd practiced longer than some of his colleagues had been alive. Esme, ever the educator and student, enjoyed taking a range of night classes on everything from poetry to advanced mathematics. Though her thirst for knowledge is deep, I knew from listening to her thoughts that it was the opportunity to meet new people that drove her to enroll in so many classes. We keep ourselves apart from society by necessity, which troubles her deeply. While she yearns to make friends with other women, the risks inherent in a new friend getting too close were too great. People who saw us in small bursts could overlook small slips, like moving too fast or overhearing a barely whispered comment. For an acquaintance to come to our home or spend any quantity of personal time with us, the things that set us apart from our co-workers, classmates and neighbours would fast become apparent.

For my part, Rochester offered enough city to lose myself in. I content myself with bookstores and concerts, long walks and the ample hunting in the nearby woodlands. While I enjoyed Esme's company, my sister to those outside of our small family, her presence awoke a loneliness within me. Before she joined us, Carlisle and I lived, worked, studied and supported one another. He was as much a father to me as the one who saw me through my first 17 years. When he changed Esme it was obvious that they would fall in love. Her brilliantly red eyes sparkled when he came into the room. She couldn't leave the house, both because of her eyes and her newborn temperament, so Carlisle withdrew half the library to bring the world to her.

When Esme finally did venture outside, the pair would explore the woods of Ashland for days at a time. It was nearly a month before I realized that it wasn't Mother Nature that drew them away from the house, but human nature. They'd chosen to take their love far from my keen hearing and ability to read their thoughts to avoid embarrassing me. While I appreciated their attempts to protect my feelings, the pity I saw in their eyes and thoughts when they looked at me was often too much to bear. I lost myself in the city to counter my own fears that I would roll along as Carlisle and Esme's third wheel forever. To shake myself from the darkness and return to my contentment with the weather, I engaged Esme: "What did you cover in class this week?"

In her mind I immediately picked up Shakespeare's love sonnets, but waited for her to answer. "I've always loved Sonnet 23. Do you have a favourite, Edward?"

Lines of poetry danced in my mind as I tried to pick one. The Bard had never been one of my favourites, but I wanted Esme to feel like we were connecting. Despite the 10 years we'd lived together I know she still feels a twinge of embarrassment from my gift. Every once in a while I'd catch her watching me out of the corner of her eye, wondering, quiet literally, if I was thinking what she was thinking. "Sonnet 29," I chose at last.

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state," Esme said quietly. I mentally cursed myself for the slip.

"I was thinking specifically about the last lines: 'For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.'" I searched her mind to learn that my lie passed unnoticed. We continued toward home, arm in arm, chatting about Esme's classes and Child of Manhattan, a film based on a Broadway play we'd both loved and wanted to see.

Blurred images assaulted my mind as our house came into view. I was witnessing an attack, but from the victim's point of view. Fleeting images of her hands as she tried to ward off an attacker showed the victim is female. Her left ring finger bore a large, yellow diamond engagement ring, and a dainty gold bracelet that was severed from her wrist with one swipe as she clawed at his eyes. I tore myself out of her mind to focus on Esme for a moment, only to see the fear in her eyes. I held her arm so tight that she'd dropped her satchel.

"Edward! Please, Edward, what do you see?" she whispered quickly. I blocked out the attack to concentrate on Esme's thoughts. She feared that the vision that stopped me dead in my tracks was a danger to us. I shook my head to indicate that this was a memory, not an active event, but before I could speak the images returned.

My view was now from the road, looking up into the dark night sky. Everything was out of focus, shaky. The stars wouldn't remain in place, and the victim's face felt sticky and wet, like blood and tears. As the wetness spread to her eyes the world become even harder to see. I tried to blink out the offending matter, but it changed nothing. These weren't my memories. There was a dull rhythmic sound in the distance, choppy and uneven like a drummer loosing the beat. She was in a lot of pain and had no feeling in her legs or right arm. One lung was definitely collapsed and her breathing was so raged I feared I would watch her die from within her own mind. But if I was watching her memory then didn't it follow that she must be alive and near by?

Each blink of her eyes was followed by a longer blackness. As they opened for what felt like it could be the very last time, I saw a face. A face I knew.

Carlisle.

His eyes were filled with a mixture of terror and pity. "You are gravely injured. Please don't try to move." The woman's good hand reached up to push against his chest as he leaned into her line of vision. She was desperately weak but her meaning was clear; she didn't want Carlisle anywhere near her. "Please don't hurt me anymore."

His eyes opened wide as hers closed for what seemed like the last time. "Please," she whispered as everything went black.

I shook off the vision and looked once more to Esme. I hadn't answered her original question and she was even more frightened. As she started toward our house a light flared on. Carlisle's shadow bounced off of the walls of his study and on to the street in front of us. He paced at a fast human speed, occasionally hooking his index finger into the spine of a book as he passed the shelf, reading a few words, and tossing it onto his desk. Esme's mind relaxed when she saw Carlisle. He was clearly upset, but seemingly unhurt. That knowledge almost made her forget that something was clearly wrong.

I slipped my arm through hers once more and looked down into her concerned face. _We should go in, _she thought. I nodded once, took her arm and we made our way into the house.

_Edward. Please keep Esme out of the cellar, _Carlisle thought hurriedly. _Ask her to run back to the hospital. Tell her… I'm working on an experiment and I need sulfur but… I myself can't leave at the moment._

As much as I hated to lie to Esme twice in one night, I knew that I was far better at it than my father. I told her Carlisle was upset because he'd forgotten the sulfur, but was now too far into the experiment to leave it untended. He needed my help for the next phase, so she was the only one who could save it. She nodded quickly and rushed out the door. The lie was solid; her mind was firmly focused on the trip to the hospital. She mulled over different experiments he could be performing based on sulfur's scientific uses as she hurried down the street. "She's gone," I called up the stairs when I knew Esme was far enough away to avoid hearing.

Carlisle was at my side in a flash. His hands and pants were coated in blood from carrying the dying woman to our house. I didn't want to believe he was capable, but his breath smelled of her blood. The same smell now permeating the entire house as he moved through it.

"Where is she? The cellar?" I asked briskly while pushing past him toward the stairs. Whatever had made Carlisle take his first human victim after centuries of this lifestyle was beyond me, but she was alive and in our house so there was still a chance to set things right. Though she was a stranger to me I recognized her hands from her memory. Her nails were torn and several were missing altogether, a testament to the fight she offered her attacker. Carlisle. It was still hard to process.

Her blood soaked, camel coloured coat sung to me from the corner. _Drink, Edward, Drink. _I stopped breathing and looked down at the woman supine on the table. Her dress was so shredded and drenched with blood and mud that it was barely recognizable as the fine piece of silk it must have one been. Her once-white slip trimmed with lace was equally decimated, making her look more like a homeless waif than a woman who would wear such an ostentatious ring. Only one family in Rochester could afford a ring like that, which meant that this could be only one woman.

"Rosalie Hale? Rosalie Hale. You've got to be joking, Carlisle." I worried my hair with my hands, hoping he'd tell me I was wrong, insane or dreaming.

He nodded, but I didn't need the assurance. Though her golden hair was sodden with mud and her face swollen from one hell of a beating, but there was no mistaking it was Rosalie Hale. If a resident of Rochester had somehow failed to pass the golden girl in the street or miss the gigantic wedding announcement proclaiming her to be the future Mrs. Royce King ll, bride-to-be of the most eligible bachelor in all of New York State. Though the Kings are well to do, the Hales are comfortably middle class, which made their match a Cinderella story any young girl could fall for. Mrs. Hale took great pains, often making sacrifices, to ensure her children were well heeled, in hopes that they could achieve more success than she and Mr. Hale. Half of the city was invited to the wedding of the century, which was now only one week away. Not only would her absence be missed by her inner circle, thanks to the proximity of the wedding it would also be news. My hands worked their way over my face back into my hair and I had to hold on for dear life to not wrap them around Carlisle's neck.

"Hypocrite," I seethed. "Not only have to you gone back on everything you urged Esme and I to be, you have put us all in danger. What if you were seen? What if you left something behind? We need to leave Rochester. Now."

Seconds later I was in my room, jamming my prized possessions into a trunk I kept at the foot of the bed for just such an event. Sheet music, books, clothing, anything that touched my hands. The hallmarks of my time in Rochester now ending because Carlisle could not control his thrust. I resisted the urge to scan his mind for his rational. The image of the girl's blood coating his mouth and flowing over his tongue might be too much. If we could get far enough away fast enough I could still send help for her and she might make it. My mind drifted to hers as I checked to see if she was still alive.

She'd stopped reliving the attack, but the slightly out of step drumbeat was still banging away. It was faster now –too fast.

I launched myself down both set of stairs to the cellar, and within a sixteenth of a second had Carlisle's body pressed up against the rocky foundation. While he was my elder by centuries, I was faster. My gift allowed me to pluck his next move from his mind before he made it and the human blood I'd indulged myself during my time away still strengthened my muscles.

His eyes widened as I pushed harder and harder against his chest. Small chunks of stone broke off as his back began to sink into the foundation. "Why would you do this to us? Esme and I have a life here. You do, too. Now we have to leave and take a newborn with us," I screamed. Almost on cue, Rosalie screamed at Carlisle's venom painfully mending and reshaping her bones, tissues and muscles. A broken rib sliding out of her lung and back into place punctuated another scream. My own change was hazy in my mind, but Rosalie's screams reminded me of the pain clearly. Her left hand clawed ineffectually at the wooden table, ripping her nails further. One detached completely and landed on the floor, but she was too far-gone to even notice. As she writhed in front of us, I returned my attention to Carlisle.

"Why? Just tell me that much."

He closed his eyes and in his mind I saw the image of a beautiful girl, full of life. She walked into the bank, owned by Royce's father, to bring her own father his lunch. Her hair bounced in the sunlight and people bumped into each other to have the opportunity to hold the door for her. The image of the golden girl disappeared to be replaced with a broken, mangled woman lying in a dark, back alley. I could once more hear her ragged breathing. Her violet eyes filled with terror and blinded by the blood pouring out of a head wound.

_Such a waste, _Carlisle thought. _To allow such a beautiful young woman to die like a dog in the road, it was unthinkable. _For the first time I allowed myself to search his mind. He walked out of the hospital and found the air stained with blood. _Too much blood, _he thought._ No one could survive that for long. _He tracked the scent to the alley where he discovered her body. The slowing thrum of her heart and her tearful plea for him not to hurt her were replayed for me through Carlisle's eyes.

His vision continued where hers ended. He pressed his ear to her chest hoping to find her more alive than she appeared. He blew air into her smashed lungs and compressed her bloodied chest. Rosalie's body was still, but not calm. Her ever cell screamed out for help while her mouth remained silent. _There's only one option now_, Carlisle thought. He softly whispered _I'm sorry_, kissed the palm of Rosalie's broken hand and sunk his razor sharp teeth into her wrist. Her back arched against the fire as Carlisle's teeth grazed her neck, the back of her knees and her elbows. After licking the wounds closed to preserve what little of her blood remained, he scooped up her lifeless body and ran for home.

I took a deep breath I didn't need and locked my eyes on Carlisle's as I released him from the wall. "I'm sorry, Father. It looked like you had…"

Carlisle's smile touched even his eyes. _I can't say I wouldn't have thought the same of you, Edward, _he thought. _I did what I had to, but I'm not proud…_

This thought stopped mid-sentence as Rosalie arched off the table so violently she nearly tipped it. "How long before it is over?" I asked, shuddering at my own burning memories.

_Two and a half days, maybe less, _he replied. _Before she wakes, I will need to explain the situation to Esme. You should go out into the city to learn what, if anything, is public knowledge thus far. _He pictured the spot where he found Rosalie's nearly lifeless body. I knew exactly where it was, not that I'd ever had trouble finding a giant pool of blood.

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	2. Chapter 2

**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer and I am borrowing her play dough. No copyright infringement is intended. ****

**Previously: ****_Rosalie arched off the table so violently she nearly tipped it. "How long before it is over?" I asked, shuddering at my own burning memories. _**

**_Two and a half days, maybe less, _****he replied****_. Before she wakes, I will need to explain the situation to Esme. You should go out into the city to learn what, if anything, is public knowledge thus far_****. He pictured the spot where he found Rosalie's nearly lifeless body. I knew exactly where it was, not that I'd ever had trouble finding a giant pool of blood. **

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**Chapter 2: Knowledge is power**

It didn't take long for me to find the spot I saw in Carlisle's mind. Rosalie's blood had lost its heat and began to dry, but still marked the place where she'd been cut down. I scoured the area for any sight lines by which onlookers could have viewed the attack or Carlisle's rescue. I felt a small relief to the anxiety that started growing inside my head hours ago, but a relief nonetheless. Onlookers meant questions and if any got to close to the truth they could expose us for what we really were. Should news of a vampire coven in Rochester spread too far the Volturi, the lawmakers of our kind, would take little time disposing of us. To expose the existence of our kind was to court their wrath. It was always swift and merciless.

The alley was unlit with few windows. Garbage piled up around the run down brick buildings. The space was a common dumping ground for anything unwanted including sacks of garbage, old furniture and apparently, nearly dead fiancés. Broken liquor bottles crunched underfoot as I looked for any reason a woman like Rosalie Hale would have for passing through such squalor.

I picked up Rosalie's scent not from her blood, but from the path that lead her to her death. Along with her own feminine scent were traces of Carlisle and at least five others. All male. Their scent was much duller than Carlisle's, but more concentrated, as if they'd actually spent time in the alley. The liquor bottle shards bore the same scents, and numerous finger impressions. The men had passed several bottles around. Perhaps they were waiting for their prey, or perhaps Rosalie was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I exhausted all the alley could tell me I used the rags and lye I brought to obliterate the bloodstain. Its presence would raise more questions when Rosalie's disappearance came to light. Without a body or the bloodstain there would be no reason for the police to visit this place or connect it to the mystery of the beautiful Ms. Hale. Without a police investigation into Rosalie's potential murder, the chance of Carlisle's involvement becoming public knowledge was also slim.

Following Rosalie's path back to her origin point, I found a small cottage set back from the road in the less attractive part of town. It was separated from the Hales' neighborhood by the rundown alley and a few boarded up shops. Through the dirty windows I saw a young mother, with a toddler on her hip, preparing a late supper. Her husband stood at a basin, washing his hands and face before approaching the woman and lifting the small boy from her arms. The child giggled at his father and immediately reached for his beard. He smile broadly as his hands disappeared into the thicket of hair. His father mirrored his grin. The woman looked to be about Rosalie's age. Rosalie's scent was on the doorknob and the knocker, like she'd been here before, and the young mother looked to be about the same age. _Perhaps the girls were former schoolmates or friends. _At least my hypothesis offered an excuse for Rosalie to be here. The alley would provide the fastest route between the cottage and her father's home.

Retracing Rosalie's ill-fated steps, I returned to the alley. This time I followed a new scent, that of the men. They'd arrived together, of that I was sure. The group's trail led back to the fountain in the centre of the city park, but from there the paths splintered. I followed each path to a series of non-descript buildings that offered me few clues about the motives or identities of the men who left Rosalie alone to die in an alley. My hopes of returning to Carlisle with concrete information were few until I followed the last path.

Unlike the others, this path led to a much nicer part of town. The others lead me to a middle class neighbourhood slightly more upscale than that of the Hales, but this one was in a clearly up-market area. As the trail's concentration grew I knew where I would land: the King residence, home to the bank owner and his son, both named Royce King, but only one of them being intended husband of Rosalie Hale. I grabbed for the nearest thing I could reach, a shrub as it turned out, and hurled it at the house. It bounced ineffectually off the brick and landed in a small pond in the garden. _Royce King. Royce King. _His named repeated in my head as my anger grew. _Did he want a way out of marrying a girl below his station, or were he and his associates just too drunk to realize the repercussions of their actions?_ My rage both consumed and confused me.

Rosalie Hale and I were never friends or even acquaintances. I only knew her name because she was on the mind of nearly every person I encountered in the run of a day, especially with the wedding so close. Why her death should move me so much was beyond my comprehension. Any loss of life was sad, but by all accounts Rosalie was just as bad as the Kings, snobs who had little time for those outside of their social circles. That she spent her evening visiting a friend in the more run down part of town was curious, but not enough to change my mind about her. Regardless of Rosalie's shortcomings, what those men did to her was beastly.

I circled the house in hopes of catching a glimpse of the younger Mr. King. I finally spotted him through a kitchen window and crouched down below it to listen. A young man standing at the counter washing his hands stared out into the night. His face was nearly as pale as mine and slicked with perspiration. My years in medical school told me he was likely to either vomit or pass out within the next few minutes.

"What's next Royce? What do we do?" he said scrubbing now invisible blood from his hands like Lady MacBeth.

"Do, Harold? Nothing," Royce replied, cool and composed. "No one will tie it to us. If they ask, we were out having a bachelor party tonight. No one knows anything about the unfortunately Ms. Hale until it comes out in the press or through the grapevine, whichever happens first."

King was clearly the butter and egg man of the outfit. His suit was hand tailored and freshly pressed, while his compatriots' garments looked distinctly worn. Most of the men busied themselves near the sink rinsing blood off of cuffs or staring at their shoes and nervously taking long pulls from flasks or bottles. One I recognized as the owner of the hands that tore Rosalie's bracelet from her wrist. Searching his mind showed me an image of her lying on the ground in a crumpled heap. _We could take her to the hospital, but it won't matter. She's done and if the police get ahold of her so are we_, he said in his memory. He shrugged at the idea that this woman's life was worth saving.

My hands found their way into my hair for the second time that night as I held on for dear life to avoid crashing through the window and murdering each one in turn. Especially the man who shrugged at the idea that saving a life could be worth his time. I searched Royce's mind for his name. Tom. Tom would die slow, I decided. As would Royce. The key difference between both events is that Tom would die first and I'd leave him somewhere public to ensure the rest learned of his death. Perhaps I'd leave him in the alley where they abandoned Rosalie.

Then there was Royce. I'd kill one of them every day for six days, killing Royce on the seventh. By the time I got to him there would be no doubt why his friends were dropping like flies, nor that his time would soon come. He stood apart from the other men in the kitchen, both physically and figuratively. He shook a gold pocket watch that wasn't ticking. Its face was cracked and I could hear the tinkling of tiny destroyed gears rattling behind its face.

_Stupid bitch. This watch is an heirloom. _His mind didn't contain one nugget of sympathy for Rosalie or regret. She was an afterthought to his broken watch and the blood on his jacket from grabbing her by the face. _If only she'd done what I asked and given the boys a show. I wouldn't have had to put her in her place like that. Too bad, she was a looker._

My hair wasn't enough to contain my anger so I leapt out of the bushes and ran as far from the house as I could. When I finally slowed I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Hale residence. I couldn't hear voices from my vantage point, but the family's thoughts were enough to tell me Rosalie's disappearance was noticed. _How many times have I asked her to call if she's coming home after dark? I would walk her or send a car. _The worry in her father's thoughts betrayed his strong words. He was afraid. He'd already sent one of his sons around to Vera's house, the woman whose face he pictured matched the young mother from the cottage, and phoned the banker's home to inquire if Royce had seen Rose. As his wife's fears reached a fevered pitch, he had to admit that his own fears were growing.

_It's time to call the police, _he thought as he rose from his chair and walked to the telephone.

I returned home to find Esme sitting on the porch in the rocking chair Carlisle made for her back in Ashland. Its familiar squeaking was a tonic to my rattled nerves. I'd run across the entire city to escape the murderous rage I had for Royce King, but it returned the moment I stopped. As I reached the porch Esme stood to embrace me.

"Edward, it's so terrible," she said as she buried her face in my chest. My arms curled around her instinctively, as though my touch could relieve some of her burden. Upon releasing me she asked the question lingering in her mind from the moment she saw me: what had I discovered? I shared with her most of what I'd learned, omitting my near mental breakdown in the Kings' garden.

"Why are you outside?" I asked.

Esme turned her face away in shame and whispered, "That sound. It's too much."

Confused I searched her mind, only to hear the fast and uneven heartbeat that had punctuated my departure. Rosalie's change awakened Esme's own memories of the burning pain and confusion she suffered just over 10 years ago. I'd witnessed her change; a three-day ordeal that left me feeling physically exhausted thought I needed no sleep. That memory left me no doubt that I wanted to stay out of the cellar over the next 2 days.

"Carlisle wants to speak with you," she said hugging me again. "He'll want to know what you learned." When Esme released me the second time, I entered the house knowing that I'd never be able to avoid the cellar.

Though Rosalie's heartbeat was audible to the three vampires living above her as she thrashed, I was certain no one outside the house could hear her suffering. The dirt floor and stone foundation absorbed the sound well. We wouldn't have to answer any questions about the screams or why the missing socialite was thrashing about on a table in our root cellar. The smell of drying blood hit me before I reached the bottom stair. Carlisle sat on a stool at the table, taking notes and watching over Rosalie's change. I shared with him all I knew, this time leaving in my feelings toward Royce King.

"It's understandable," he said, to my surprise. "You spent the last several years hunting men like Royce, listening to their minds and equalizing the moral scorecard." It was the first time Carlisle had ever indicated he possessed any knowledge about my lost years.

In his mind I saw myself, red-eyed and stalking my prey. He was a businessman who sold young female labourers into Chicago's sex trade. Their parents sent them to the city to earn money to support their younger siblings at home, but all they found was misery. The girls rarely returned home in one piece, if at all. He was in his home, counting money at his kitchen table when I took him. I pounced onto the table from the doorway, scattering his precious bills. The terror in his eyes only fed my hunger. I didn't even need to chase him as his only action upon seeing me was to wet himself. As I watched myself drink through Carlisle's eyes I could taste his blood, rich, warm and vital.

_I followed you. I needed to know you were alive, _he thought.

"But why didn't you say anything? Then or when I returned."

_I wasn't happy with your new lifestyle, but I understood your motivations. You needed to find your own path to our way of life. I knew my insistence that you follow my brand of morality could only survive so long. You're headstrong Edward, but you also have a keen sense of good and evil. I never doubted that you would return to us one day. _

My eyes found Rosalie's face. It was twisted in pain as the change burned its way through her. Carlisle had covered her shredded dress with a sheet to protect her modestly, but her body was determine to shake it off as she twitched and writhed on the table.

"I need to dress and go back to the hospital soon. It's almost morning," he said aloud, knowing my mind was absorbed with Rosalie and no longer residing in his thoughts.

"You're going in today?" Esme had just reached the bottom of the stairs, eager to learn what we planned to do next.

"Yes. It's key that we act as though nothing is out of place. Rosalie's disappearance will be public knowledge soon, but there's little reason we should be dragged into it," he said as he stood.

"I'd like one of you to stay with her at all times. I know the change is hard to watch, but it's even harder to go through alone. I was alone through the worst three days of my life and alone when I woke up. I ensured neither of you faced the same fate and I hope you'll do the same for Rosalie.

"Keep in mind, unlike the both of you, Rosalie did not expect death. When she awakes there's no telling the extent of her confusion. I would like the first thing she sees to be a friendly face."

As I took his place on the stool he nodded and headed upstairs. Carlisle was a novice doctor at the Rochester Hospital, which meant he often worked 12 hours shifts. The only trouble it gave him was remembering to act tired as he neared his ninth hour and pretending to drink a lot of coffee. Esme returned upstairs to help him prepare and see him off.

Looking at Rosalie's face pained me, so I concentrated on her other attributes. Her formerly mud incrusted hair was now practically glowing. The large laceration at her hairline had mended too, leaving no trace of scar. Her broken and torn fingernails now glistened whole and strong. I slipped my hand into hers and whispered, "Everything will be all right."

Instead of feeling silly for speaking to someone who couldn't possibly reply, I was shocked to hear her response loud and clear in my mind: _No. It will never be all right again._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Promises**

**This chapter features some physical violence and blood. **

**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer and I am just playing in her sandbox. No copyright infringement is intended.*****

**Previously: Looking at Rosalie's face pained me, so I concentrated on her other attributes. Her formerly mud incrusted hair was now practically glowing. The large laceration at her hairline had mended too, leaving no trace of scar. Her broken and torn fingernails now glistened whole and strong. I slipped my hand into hers and whispered, "Everything will be all right"**

**Instead of feeling silly for speaking to someone who couldn't possibly reply, I was shocked to hear her response loud and clear in my mind: ****_No. It will never be all right again._**

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My mind was playing tricks on me. The stress of the last 12 hours had been intense. In the span of one day I'd run the gamut from perfectly content with my lot to accusing my father of murder and then nearly slaughtering Royce King and his worthless gang of thugs. Now I was imagining that the dying woman on the table was speaking to me.

"Rosalie?" I whispered tentatively. "Miss Hale?"

_Please help. The burning... _Her mental voice was small and sounded far away. Her body twisted and jerked with the cadence of her mental voice. Like it hurt her to even think the words.

I returned my hand to hers and squeezed gently to let her know I was there, but avoid causing her any new pain. "I know what you're going through. I've been there myself. I understand how all consuming the pain is, but it's almost over," I whispered directly into her ear to avoid Esme overhearing. The idea that someone in that much pain could be conscious and trapped inside her own head would disturb Esme.

"Someone will be here with you the entire time. You are not alone," I continued. I waited for her answer, but Rosalie's mind was still, unlike her body, which continued to twitch with each terrible beat of her racing heart.

I leaned back from her pyre when I heard Esme's soft footfalls overhead. She descended the stairs carrying a basin of water, some towels and clean clothes and smiled when she caught my gaze. "I thought it would be better if she were dressed in something clean and whole when it was over," she whispered as though her voice might wake the burning woman.

Pushing myself up from the stool, I rose to take the basin from her hands. Two sponges floated in the water to which Esme had added lavender. I squeezed the excess from one and bushed it carefully across Rosalie's forehead. The water beaded and evaporated quickly. The temperature in her body would have boiled her blood were the venom not working its way through her system, destroying and rebuilding her entire body simultaneously.

"I remember Carlisle doing this for you," I said without looking at Esme. She smiled her peaceable smile. I had been terrified to go near Esme when she was changing. I'd sit in the room with her while Carlisle went out for supplies, but I didn't touch her. The memory of my own change was too present with another body in the room. "As he did for you, I'm sure. Now it's our turn to pass on the kindness."

Esme walked to the foot of the table and removed the one shoe Rosalie still wore. She carefully placed it on the floor next to the blood soaked wool coat, as though Rosalie could rise and don her ruined clothing at any moment. Her small hands slipped carefully under the sheet to remove each of Rosalie's stockings and placed them with the coat and shoe. Returning to the head of the table she lifted Rosalie left hand and held it to her cheek for a moment. Laying Rosalie's hand back on the table she removed the brilliant yellow diamond ring. "Please keep this safe for her," she said handing me the jewel.

"I'm not sure that she'll want it, considering," Images of Royce and his friends flashed through my mind. I felt my hands gather into fists and quickly relaxed them to avoid turning the ring to sand and twisted metal.

Esme plucked the ring from my palm. "She'll have many choices to make in the coming days, Edward, what to do with the ring is only one of them. She slipped the ring into her dress pocket and proceeded to gently wash Rosalie's arms and legs.

When I closed my eyes I could hear Esme sobbing quietly in her mind. Her own violent past taught her at too young and age than men could be beyond cruel, but seeing the outcome in front of her was too much. _This could have so easily been me all those years ago,_ she thought. In an attempt to push the burden from her mind she pictured Carlisle's face, the first image she had of him from the moment she opened her eyes on this life. He glowed in her mind like an angel coming to carry her to Heaven. In fact, she recalled _I thought he was an angel at first. _Esme smiled outwardly at her thoughts of my father and I kept my eyes trained on Rosalie to avoid revealing that I had been listening.

"She so beautiful, Edward. Look at her already." The outward aspects of Rosalie's transformation were nearly complete and her body had now grown as still as her mind. Her wounds mended, her skin became a smooth alabaster sheet, like a master had craved her from marble. When she awoke her eyes would break the spell of her beauty and herald her newborn nature.

"But what happens when she wakes up? What then?" I asked. Infinite possibilities raced through my mind. Would she want to stay with us or go out on her own? Would we need to restrain her and spirit her away from the city? Rochester is densely populated; a newborn vampire could kill hundreds in a day.

"What always happens, Edward. Explanations and questions. As Carlisle helped you, and you both helped me, we will help her understand this new life she's been borne into," she said in her calmest voice. "Go upstairs and take a break. I'll stay with her until your father returns from the hospital. I'd like to change her dress anyway." Esme cupped Rosalie's cheek in her palms as she spoke. Her maternal instincts were already protective. When this woman needed help, Esme would be there for anything.

"Go upstairs and take a break," the soft voice sang in my ear. It reached me like a cool breeze in the scorching heat of hell. Seconds, minutes, hours later I heard him ascend the stairs and close the cellar door carefully.

The pain was ever present, but dulled to the point where I could think around it. Did the man who just went upstairs really hear me earlier? Or was he simply saying what anyone would when confronted with a dying woman. Before I could even finish the thought another jumped into my mind: Were these people real or was I simply my mind conjuring up ghosts so that I wouldn't die alone. The end would come soon. I was exhausted from the pain and…

I awoke again, years, centuries later. The pain volume was no lower, but there was more space in my mind to think around it. I could hear someone moving about upstairs, people out on the street and even the birds in the trees, but the cellar was silent save for my booming heartbeat. The organ pumped so vigorously I imagined it would be visible to anyone looking at me. As my pain level lowered the beat grew faster and faster. It drowned out my own breathing and the breathing of the woman with the kind voice. I couldn't move, open my eyes or hear her, but I knew she was still there. "I will always take care of you. I promise." Her words echoed in my mind.

The quiet woman's loving touch and soft voice comforted me, but didn't alleviate my confusion. The pain had blocked out any possibility of coherent thought, but as it dulled my memories trickled back in. Before the pain there was darkness, and before the darkness there was more pain. Different pain.

Flashes and flickered images punctuated my memories. Vera laughing as her tiny son climbed under my skirts. "A cave mama," he squealed with delight. She reached for him and pulled him close to kiss his head. Jealousy flared inside, but I would have all of this and more soon. I would marry Royce and give him golden sons. He in turn would give me the life I deserved. Everyone in Rochester would know the name Rosalie King. My life was perfect.

I put my jealousy aside when it came time to leave. Vera and I lived very different lives now. As a child playing with the housekeeper's daughter seemed normal. We were the same age and enjoyed the same things. As we grew older, we attended different school, made new friends and moved in different circles. The dingy apartment buildings separating our homes grew taller with the years, a dividing wall between us…

The memory faded to be replaced by a group of men blocking my path. They were scattered about the alley passing a bottle. One man stepped toward the tallest of the group, reaching out to light his cigarette. At the tip caught the flame it illuminated I face I knew. "Royce! Thank god. I was nervous in the dark. What are you doing here?"

His smile showed too many teeth and didn't touch his eyes. "Waiting for you of course, darling. I wanted to introduce you to some people who just came to town for the wedding."

The man with the lighter stepped toward me quickly. "You're right Royce. She is a dish. What a face," he said running a finger down my cheek. I shuddered at the smell of the whisky lacing his words. "Such a big coat though."

"Agreed," said Royce as he sidled up next to his unnamed friend. "Let's just take it off. Shall we, Rose?" He grabbed for the lapels of my coat violently. Strings snapped and buttons scattered in every direction and the men who'd been in the background advanced on me.

"Nice gams," said one. "Too bad the dress is so long."

My future husband winked and gestured for the man with the lighter to proceed. I jumped back as he reached for me. His fingers only brushed the hem of my dress the first time, but the second time her found purchase on the silk. The side seam tore up to my waist as he used it to drag me forward. I pulled a hand back to hit him, but he caught my wrist swiftly. My gold bracelet snapped under his think fingers. "Not so fast, beautiful. The night is still young."

The other men hooted and hollered. Royce took a swig from the bottle and smiled his terrible smile once more. I locked my eyes on his, waiting for him to put a stop to this foolishness and take me home. "Please don't," I said, trying to make my voice sound weak in hopes that they would take pity on me and end this game of cats and mouse. Royce approached me slowly, taking a drag from his cigarette, like he had all of the time in the world.

He put a hand under my chin to cup my face. This was the gentle Royce I knew. He'd come to his senses. Just as I was beginning to relax his hand grew stiff, squeezing my face hard. Involuntary tears flowed from my eyes.

"Go with it Rose. These people are my friends. Don't you want to be polite to our guests?"

A new man approached me, pushed forward by the gang. "Go for it Harold. Show her how they do it down south," one yelled. Their laughs and smiles were laced with alcohol and bent up frustration. This was cats and mouse, but surely no game.

The man moved slowly. He was clearly the runt of the litter. Not as well heeled or put together. His pudgy face revealed is insecurity as he faced me down. "Sorry," he mouthed as he closed the last of the gap between us.

"Me too," I returned. Frozen, uncertain what to do now that he had me, my apology gave him enough pause to get my foot up and grind my high heel into his thigh. His scream shattered the air as he fell to the ground. I ran as fast as I could wearing only one shoe.

"Not nice Rosie," Royce sang as he pursued. "We'll have to teach you a real lesson now." I turned another corner, but tripped and tumbled into a row of garbage cans. Broken glass ground into my palms as I tried to crawl away from him. Moving was difficult, It felt like I had a knife in my chest. Royce grabbed my elbow and hauled me to my feet. He pulled me close and wrapped an arm around my neck to drag me back. "You're going to have to learn to be more obedient, Rosie. To be a good wife."

He pushed me into the circle of men. Hands reached out for me, disgusting comments spewed from their mouths. The harder I fought the more determined I grew to escape and the harder they pulled at my limbs and my clothes. "Come'ere girl," one of the men said pulling me toward him violently. I lost my footing and slammed head first into the brick wall with a sickening crunch. Time slowed down as my head felt like it was exploding. Blood steamed from my nose and the gash in my forehead. I tried to grab for the wall but couldn't make my body respond to my commands as I slid into a heap on the ground.

"Christ. You're a doctor, Tom. Do something," fat, nervous Harold whined.

The man who started it all leaned toward me. I could feel his fingers brush the slash across my forehead and probe at my neck. I wished he'd get his hands off of my skin. And even more I wished I could move. Laying on the ground my head lolled to one side, blocking everyone from my view but the cowering Harold.

He exhaled slowly and turned to Royce. "Shit, Royce, she's in really trouble here."

Harold's hand came up quickly to cover his mouth and stifle the moan he couldn't quiet. "Oh god, oh god, oh g-" Royce's swift fist to his gut silenced him quickly.

"Better to know now. Right Tom? The girl's just no fun," he took another swig, shockingly unconcerned. "Let's go."

"What about her? Rosalie?" said Harold with a note of hysteria in his voice. Thought pathetic, he was beginning to look like my only hope of surviving this ordeal.

"What about her?" Royce replied in a high-pitched voice mimicking Harold's panic. "You heard Tom."

Harold looked to Tom with wild eyes. "Girl's done for," said Tom. "We could take her to the hospital, but it won't matter. She's done and if the police get ahold of her so are we."

"Let's go, men," said Royce as he started to walk backwards out of the alley "The bachelor party isn't over just yet." He didn't even spare me a last glance. The rest, in various states of shock and drunkenness, followed him.

Tom leaned down once more, wrapping a meaty hand around my face and turning my head toward him. His blue eyes were apologetic, but nothing compared to Harold's terror. "A lesson for you doll. You shoulda just gone with it. Now look what you did." My head rolled back toward the pavement as he released me and rose to walk away. My chances of walking away were disappearing by the second.

Breathing became so difficult I began to lose consciousness. I was going to die and Royce would live.

He would look somber and say all the right things. He would hold my mother's hand and speak tenderly. He would wish aloud that I'd called him to walk me home that night. He would tell my father how much he'd relish five minutes alone with the bastard who did this to the woman would now never get to mother his children. He would put up a big reward and tell the papers how beautiful I was. How he'd never love anyone else. Every ear in Rochester would turn in his direction and my name would be on everyone's lips. Just not the way I wanted it to sound.

I'd never been religious or believed in much, but as the darkness moved in I made a promise to myself, god and Royce:

_If I live, I'll kill them all._

* * *

**I'd never been much of a Rosalie fan before this story, but I think I completely just switched teams. Please leave me a review and recommend this story to your friends. **


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